Kutner's Teachings
by Harper Penn
Summary: In the wake of an argument between Wilson and House, Wilson gets an unexpected visit from beyond the grave to show him House's past and future. Rated T for mentions of child abuse and mild swearing. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, Harper here! This is my first published story. Not all my tales will be as... imaginative... but I felt that my first should be interesting. This is chapter one, and as a new member, I'd love some reviews and suggestions. **

**Anyway, enjoy reading!**

On a cold, rainy Tuesday afternoon, James Wilson strode into the diagnostics department, an angry stab to his step.

He'd walked in on House just as the diagnostician was setting down his back pack and sitting in his office chair.

"So, you finally get to work?" he asked scathingly, jumping down his friend's throat. "Cuddy was on my ass all morning long, looking for you. You know how far behind on clinic hours you are? And she comes to me, like it's my fault that you're an irresponsible ass."

House rolled his eyes, turning to his computer. "Well, I'm here now, _mom. _Kindly get out and let me do my job."

Wilson snarled. After their little fight last night, he'd had enough with his friend's snark. His mind threw him a play by play of how much of an ass House had been the night before.

_Wilson had knocked on the door, before simply using his key. He knew House wouldn't answer the door, so it was best if he asked forgiveness instead of permission. _

_House had been on the couch, watching TV. He'd turned an angry eye on Wilson as soon as the oncologist had entered. Wilson had instantly known this had been a bad time to show up at House's apartment. _

_House hadn't let him explain why he was there. "Go away, Wilson. I'm tired and I don't feel like it tonight."_

_Wilson had rolled his eyes, taking a step closer. House's sharp tongue had stopped him flat. _

"_Did you not hear me?" he snarled. "Get the hell out!"_

_Wilson was both hurt and angered by his words. "Why?"_

"_I don't want you here?"_

_Wilson had snapped then. "Really? You really don't? Because I seem to be over here a lot when you supposedly don't want me, but it _seems_ like I do a lot of cleaning up your wasted ass for you to resent me."_

_House had sneered. "That's fine with me, Jimmy, if you need to stroke your ego by hanging around a needy cripple. But tonight, you need to go back to your lonely apartment, with no wife to keep you company, and leave me the hell alone!"_

_House's jab on his current living conditions had really hit home. "Fine!" he yelled, whirling around to stalk out the door. "And don't you dare call me for a ride in the morning!"_

Back in the present, he blinked. House didn't look the least bit sorry for the spat last night. In fact, he looked hung over.

"So, what, did you spend the night getting wasted?"

House stiffened, but then unwound like he was forcing himself to relax. "Sure."

Sure. He got drunk, and came in to work hung over, and all he has to say is "sure."

"Jesus Christ, House!" Wilson exploded. He'd had enough. "When are you going to grow up? And stop being such an ass!"

House didn't say anything. He just turned to his computer and ignored Wilson totally.

"Fine!" Wilson shouted. "I'm gonna go tell Cuddy you've finally arrived so she can get off my ass and onto yours!"

He stomped his way out of the room.

Before going to Cuddy's office, however, he made a quick stop in his office to calm down, slamming the door behind him.

He placed both hands on his desk, breathing deeply to calm himself. House just had this way of getting under his skin, he always had. It wouldn't do for him to end up yelling at his boss because of it.

"He really is an asshole, huh?" said a voice behind him.

Wilson whirled around, startled. "Wha-"

His mouth dropped open, and he backed up a step, paling. There, standing before him, was none other than Lawrence Kutner.

He made an incoherent squeaking noise. Kutner was there, but he wasn't. He was partially see-through. Wilson could see the window, covered in blinds, behind him.

Kutner was not smiling. "Dr. Wilson. How've you been?"

Wilson didn't answer the question. "K-Kutner?" He stuttered. "How… You're dead."

Kutner didn't blink at the supposed revelation. "Thanks for reminding me. Like I'd forgotten."

Wilson was sweating now. What kind of sick joke was this? He looked around for the projector. "House, if this is your idea of a joke, it isn't funny!"

Kutner shook his head, taking a step towards Wilson. "This isn't a joke, Wilson. Do you need proof? Ask me a question, anything, and I'll answer it for you. It's one of the perks of being dead."

Wilson swallowed. "What am I thinking right now?"

Kutner gave him a thin smile. "And I quote, 'holy shit holy shit holy shit, how the hell is Kutner talking to me right now, House must have put LSD in my coffee when I wasn't paying attention, or am I hallucinating…"

He stared at Wilson, who was now breathing rapidly. "Should I go on?"

Wilson took a shuddering breath. "What number am I thinking of, between one and one billion?"

Kutner blinked. "You aren't thinking of a number. You're thinking, 'I won't think of a number, and when he says one I'll know I'm not totally insane."

Wilson sat down on the couch, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him.

Kutner was suddenly right in front of him, and Wilson jerked backwards.

"So, you and House have been fighting, huh?" he asked, almost conversationally. "Why's that?"

Wilson was still trying to wrap his mind around the situation, but thinking of how House had treated him still made him angry. "Why in the world would that matter to you?"

Kutner shrugged. "He was my boss. I look out for the people I knew."

Wilson stared at him. "What, from heaven?"

Kutner smiled, his first genuine one. "Yeah. You should see it, Wilson. It's amazing up there."

The smile dissipated as quickly as it had come. "But back to the question. What's wrong between the two of you?"

Wilson scoffed, beginning to get angry. "If you've been watching, you should have seen. House has been being a total ass, and I'm getting fed up with it."

Kutner shook his head, almost like he was disappointed in Wilson. "Dr. Wilson, you aren't getting the entire picture. I don't think you're being totally fair to House right now."

Wilson frowned. "What else is there to see? He takes advantage of me and shoves everything wrong in my life in my face when I try to help him. I don't understand why I'm friends with the man, honestly."

Kutner raised his eyebrow, leaning in. He was cold, and he sent a shiver through Wilson. Wilson was suddenly, forcefully reminded that he was talking to a ghost.

"Come on, Dr. Wilson. I'm gonna go Christmas Carol on you. You better call Cuddy and tell her you're going home, because this is going to take a few hours."

It clearly wasn't a request. With shaky hands, he called Cuddy and told her he had a family emergency, and he needed to take the rest of the day off. She was completely understanding and granted him the day, and tomorrow too if necessary. Next, he called his secretary to do the same, canceling his appointments.

She was understanding and sympathetic as well.

When he was finished, Kutner grabbed him by the arm. His transparent hand was cold, giving Wilson goose bumps.

"W-where are you taking me?" Wilson gasped, as Kutner wrenched him none to gently upright.

Kutner's dark eyes sparkled with a sudden malice. "To the past, Dr. Wilson. House's past."

Suddenly, the room was a spinning blur around them, growing darker and darker. Wilson yelled out, frightened, clinging to Kutner's cold body.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! Without further ado, here's chapter two!**

As suddenly as it had began, the spinning stopped. Wilson landed with a thud on a hard, tiled floor.

He looked around, dazed. Kutner was standing up next to him with his arms crossed, staring straight ahead. "Where are we?" Wilson asked, standing shakily.

Kutner nodded solemnly in the direction he was looking. "See for yourself, Dr. Wilson."

Wilson followed his gaze, then nearly jumped backwards. There, in front of him, was a family, a mom and a dad and a boy, sitting around a table and eating dinner. The boy couldn't have been more than six or seven, but Wilson recognized him instantly.

"Is that _House?" _he asked Kutner incredulously. He didn't really need an answer. He recognized him.

The boy was thin and lanky, not a fat cell in his body. He had curly, dark brown hair, and bright, intelligent blue eyes. That shade of piercing blue was absolutely unmistakable. It was House, at age six.

Wilson knew the other two figures. He'd met Blithe, House's mother, several times. His father, he'd met once, but the man's face had been burned into his mind. The upright, military man was instantly recognizable as House's dad. At the moment, the two of them were chatting about how House had informed him mother, correctly, of what a star was made of, when she'd mused on it out loud. Blithe was smiling as she spoke, clearly proud of the intelligence of her child.

House, at the moment, was silent as his dad spoke to his mom. He was looking down at his plate, pushing his food around with his fork like he had no appetite.

House's father suddenly barked at him. "Why aren't you eating, boy? Your mother's food not good enough for you?"

Wilson's mouth hung open at the way House answered his father. "N-no sir. I'm sorry. I'm just not feeling… good."

House had never, not once since Wilson had met him, spoke like that. Stuttering, apologizing, his voice full of badly suppressed fear. He was clearly _terrified _of his father.

His father sneered in return. "Well suck it up, Gregory. Your mother worked hard on this meal and you're going to eat every last bite."

His mother looked slightly pained, but she didn't protest. House swallowed, his eyes flicking towards and away from his father. "Yes, sir."

His father went back to the conversation with his mother as he choked down the food.

Suddenly, Wilson felt a burning sensation in the back of his throat. He clawed at it, eyes watering. "Wh-what? What the hell?" he sputtered, eyes bulging. "What's wrong with my throat?"

Kutner looked at him solemnly. "You're feeling what House feels at this moment. Do you like it?"

Wilson sent an incredulous glance at the six year old House. His face was similar to Wilson's, but he was controlling it better.

"What the hell is he eating?"

Kutner shook his head. "His dad had covered it in dried pepper."

"_Why?"_

"Because it was just another aspect of his son's life he could control."

Wilson's eyes widened in shock, even as his throat burned. House ate the meal as quickly as possible, finally dousing his throat with a long gulp of milk. Wilson felt the searing pain in his mouth fade to a dull pulse.

House's dad eyed him. "Done already?"

House nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir. May I be excused?"

His dad smiled. Instead of finding this reassuring, however, the smaller version of House paled. "Sure, why not?" his dad answered, sickly sweet. "Get ready for bed, Greg. I'll be up in an hour or so to… tuck you in… after your mother is in bed."

House swallowed, then turned and ran upstairs.

Wilson turned to Kutner, anger in his eyes. "What the hell is this? Was House's father… abusive?"

Kutner looked at him flatly, his eyes dark little disks of black. "Keep watching, and you tell me."

The room spun again, and Wilson found himself an hour or so in the future, now in House's bedroom. It was a plain room, with white walls and few possessions.

The boy in question was perched on the bed, hands fidgeting in his lap, a frightened expression on his face. His eyes widened in terror when he heard the _thump_ of a boot on the stairs.

Wilson turned to Kutner, eyes frantic. "Kutner. Kutner! What's about to happen?"

Kutner didn't even turn in his direction, his eyes sad.

House's dad opened the door. House jumped up, standing rigidly as his father advanced on him like a predatory animal.

"So, boy," his dad said menacingly, none of the false sweetness from dinner in his voice any longer. "Your mother tells me you mouthed off to her today while I was at the base."

House quivered, paling. "No, sir."

"No?" he questioned sharply, taking a step forward. House seemed to fighting with himself to not flee in the opposite direction.

"N-No," he repeated, swallowing. "I… was telling her what a star was made of."

His father sneered. "You _corrected _her."

A small pearl of determination bloomed on House's face, an expression that Wilson knew well. "She was wrong."

Without warning, John's hand snapped out and backhanded his son across the face. Wilson felt the impact like John had hit him instead of his son. House hit the wall behind him with a thud, sliding down with a dazed expression on his face, even as a bruise bloomed on his jaw.

Wilson surged forwards, but Kutner's hand on his arm held him back. "There's nothing you can do, Dr. Wilson. They can't see or hear you."

Wilson watched, his stomach in turmoil, as John snatched up his son from the ground by his shirt collar, holding him up. "Don't you _dare _talk back to your elders, boy!" he snarled. "Never!"

House nodded frantically, terrified. Apparently, though, that wasn't enough for his father. He flipped House around, grabbing his arm roughly and shoving him out the door.

Wilson cried out at the sharp pain in his arm. "What's he doing?" he questioned Kutner frantically. "Where's he taking him?"

Instead of answering, Kutner followed the pair out the door and down the stairs.

"I think you need to spend the night thinking about your actions, boy," his father said threateningly, leading him to the back door.

House protested, pressing up against his father with the beginnings of tears in his eyes. "No! No, sir, please!"

His father pushed against him roughly, opening the door. It was raining hard outside. He shoved his six year old out into the downpour.

House turned around, already soaked, as his father slammed the door. Tears were pushing at his eyes, but he didn't let them fall.

Wilson watched, sickened, as he tried the door hopelessly. It was locked fast.

The younger House turned and walked sadly to a tall tree in the middle of the yard, huddling under its branches. He gripped his knees and buried his head in between them, staring at the rain with eyes full of unshed tears.

Wilson stared at him, feeling the cold, hopelessness that seemed to pierce into the boy.

Kutner finally spoke up. "This sort of thing started when he was four."

"_Four?" _Wilson asked, sickened.

Kutner nodded. "This is actually one of the better nights."

As he spoke, Wilson watched the scenery change in a kind of sick montage. Every scene was one where House was being tormented by his father. A harsh kick there, that Wilson felt in his stomach like a freight train. Then the pain was gone, replaced with a sensation like being burnt alive. He watched, horrified, as John held down his child in a bath full of ice. A second later, and he watched his father burn a small, round scar into his child's arm with his cigarette butt. The clips got worse and worse, until, hundreds of beatings and broken bones later, House had grown into a tall, muscled young man, a senior in high school. He watched as the teenage version of House practically ran out of the house, bags in hand.

This moment slowed. Wilson could hear House yelling angrily at his father. "Yeah, I'm leaving! And I'm not coming back, you rotten bastard!"

He picked up his bags and made to get into a waiting car, but John stormed out the door after him. "Gregory House, don't you dare speak that way to me!"

House dropped his bag and turned to face his father, battle ready. "Just try and stop me!"

His father was still bigger and had a slight advantage over his son. He launched himself at his son, scuffling for a moment. House landed a harsh punch in his father's face and stomach, leaving him wheezing, but eventually, his father had him pinned with his arm behind his back.

Wilson winced as he felt the pressure on his shoulder that House was feeling as well.

"How dare you?" his father hissed, jerking House's arm up higher. House cried out as his father threatened to dislocate the arm, Wilson's pained shout not far behind.

This time, though, House had had enough. "Let GO of me!" he shouted, wriggling against his father's iron clad grip. "Now!"

His father smiled grimly, and pulled up.

House let loose an agonized cry as his shoulder was dislocated. Wilson felt a searing, white hot pain ripping through his shoulder, sending him to his knees.

John stood above his son, sneering. "You get out of here, you worthless shit. And don't come back."

Determinately, House fought the pain with a strength that Wilson knew he'd never be able to muster, staggering to his feet and picking up his bags. He threw them in the car, falling in the driver's seat.

Wilson was nearly blinded by the pain when the boy jerked his arm back into its socket, eliciting a scream from them both. After taking a breather, the young man peeled out of the driveway.

The world spun around him again, and Wilson felt his shoulder pain ease and dissipate with relief. Kutner was standing above him, the world around them dark as midnight.

**You likey? Let me know if I should add to it in reviews, or leave as is. I'm kinda making this up as I go along, and I don't mind making adjustments! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's the next chapter. Sorry it's short, the next one will make up for it. **

Wilson pushed tears out of his eyes, remaining on the floor. "No _wonder _he hates his father. And, oh, God, we forced him to go to the funeral! What kind of shitty friend am I, that I didn't see it?"

For the first time, he saw a hint of sympathy in Kutner's eyes. "House never told you, Wilson. His father had conditioned him to never say a word about the abuse."

Wilson blinked back more tears. "But surely, he told _somebody, _after all this time."

Kutner blinked. "One, and only one. Remember Eve, the rape victim that insisted on having House as her doctor? He told her the bare bones of it. She wanted him because she could _see _it in him, one abuse victim to another. He helped her by sharing his childhood pain so she could begin to get over hers."

Wilson closed his eyes. Of course. He'd always wondered why Eve had wanted House, of all people, as her doctor.

Kutner went on, staring up at the sky. "The emotional abuse continued long after he left home, Dr. Wilson. Can you see now why House might have trouble believing in unconditional love? Why he might be suspicious of any one reaching out? He never received help from the abuse as a child, even with the multiple, severe injuries that he got when his father was home."

Kutner shook his head. "This is a big part of why he can't trust just anyone."

Wilson wanted to cry some more, but he refrained, getting up instead. "How could a father do that to their child?"

Kutner shook his head. "It's a long combination of things, Dr. Wilson, that caused John to act the way he did. For one, he and his son had severely different personalities. John saw the world in black and white, while House sees it in shades of gray. His father was a 'rules' person, House, obviously, is not."

Kutner let a flicker of a smile pass over his face at the thought of some of the rules House had broken. "For another thing, House surpassed both his parents intellectually. As a strong, military man, John felt threatened by him."

Wilson was incredulous. "Threatened? By a child?"

Kutner nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "To a man that was rarely home, being with his lover was everything. Subconsciously, he saw House as an infringement on the precious time he had with his wife, and blamed him. House was bright child, and every time Blythe was distracted from John to take care of House, John grew angry."

"That's ridiculous."

"It was his nature. I'm not saying it was right, not by a long shot, but it was John all the same. He had a limited view of the world and an inability to see the other side of an argument."

Wilson pushed a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I can see where that would be a problem for House."

Kutner sighed. "Another big issue was that he was not House's biological father, as you know."

"Yeah, but did he know?"

"At first he suspected, and that likely influenced some of his actions. House told him, after finding out himself, and that made John feel inadequate as a lover and as a man. He took it out on his child instead of his wife. He felt that he'd lost control in that one essential moment, so he regained imaginary respect by rigidly disciplining his child."

Wilson shook his head. "House has never even been in any kind of therapy for this."

Kutner smiled grimly. "House has moved on as best he knows how. A therapy session might be a good idea, but his trust issues are likely to get in the way of him saying anything, especially to a stranger."

Kutner eyed him. "He might just open up to you, though."

Wilson scoffed. "House has never said a word to me about this."

Kutner's eyes blazed for a split second, and Wilson stepped back. "He _did _try to tell you, Dr. Wilson. You were too angry with him to realize it, but he did. On the way to his father's funeral."

Wilson felt his stomach sink as he remembered some of House's words. "I just… assumed he was trying to get out of it."

"He was. But he wasn't lying."

Wilson closed his eyes for a moment. Amber. He'd been _so _angry. And really, none of it had been House's fault. His misplaced fury had clammed his friend up, maybe for good.

"I'm an idiot."

"A little, yeah." Kutner frowned. "But it isn't like he made it easy on you, so don't get too guilty."

Wilson shook his head. "I understand why you showed me that, Kutner, but tell me one thing."

Kutner peered at him and cocked his head, like he already knew what Wilson was going to say. Which, probably, he did, since he could read his mind and all.

"Why make me feel the pain too? I knew he was hurting, I could see it clearly."

The ghost of a doctor smiled sadly. "If there's one thing John was right about, it was that a lesson taught with pain speaks louder than one without it."

Wilson didn't question him further.

Kutner patted him lightly. "Come on. We're going to go a lot closer to the present. To the fight last night, actually, or at least a bit before it."

**Like I said, next chapter will be much longer. I just felt this one was needed as a breather, and as a way to explain the significance of Kutner's choice in showing Wilson the things he did. **


	4. Chapter 4

**This chapter was interesting, mostly because of the fact that I was playing around in House's head. I promise, if it wasn't such a serious chapter, there would be more snark. Maybe next chapter?**

The world spun, and Wilson found himself in House's apartment.

The man was asleep on the couch, lightly snoring. A quick look at a clock revealed it was an hour or so before Wilson had shown up.

Suddenly, Wilson was on his ass. A sharp, searing pain had shot through his thigh, sending him down, down, down. He cried out, gripping it and flailing in blind, white hot agony.

House had woken up, and was massaging his thigh muscle franticly, his eyes closed and his head pressed up against the couch. His breath came out in short, pained gasps.

This was _House's _pain he was feeling? How was the man not screaming?

Kutner touched Wilson's arm, and suddenly the pain was gone. Wilson lay on the ground and panted in relief.

"I need you paying attention," the younger doctor explained, "But I wanted you to feel what he felt for a moment. Now, instead, you'll hear what's going on in his head."

Before he had a chance to think, '_What the hell?' _Wilson felt a strange, tingling sensation all over his body, like the feeling he got when his leg or arm fell asleep.

Suddenly, with the force of an oncoming freight train, Wilson felt himself _connect _with House's mind.

He saw stars. It was _overwhelming. _Suddenly he felt all that his friend felt, thought everything that House thought. With a mind like House's, Wilson was left, confused and sore, in the dust. He literally hearing everything that ran through House's mind.

'_Jesus,' _he 'heard' House think. '_Why so much pain today, leg? Did I slip up and insult you again? Come on, you know when I said you looked fat in that, I was joking.'_

It was a strange sensation. He knew House was in an incredible amount of pain, but he didn't feel it himself. Instead, he felt the effect it had on House's mind. The feeling was literally so strong that it clouded the man's thoughts; Wilson had the strange sensation that he was listening to House through a cardboard tube, or seeing him through warped glass. His mind just wasn't _clear._

Wilson felt sick at the kind of pain it would take to derail House's powerful mind.

He watched as House's shaky hand pulled out his Vicodin, popping the lid in one practiced movement. '_Not that it will help,' _House thought as he dry swallowed two. '_Not with breakthrough pain. You know that, you moron, so why are you taking them? Oh yeah, because you don't want to detox on top of everything else.'_

Little to no relief came with the pills. His mind hardly sharpened. Wilson felt his stomach lurch. How long had House been dealing with this?

'_This is a long one,' _House thought, as if answering Wilson's unspoken question. '_I'd hoped the weekend was going to be long enough to get rid of it, but no, it just had to keep on hitting me today. I have _got _to figure something out, or this is going to kill me. I can't handle more than one breakthrough episode a month.'_

Wilson swallowed. A month? House had been getting that kind of pain that often? And he hadn't even _noticed._

'_I need to sleep. I haven't really slept in… what day is it? Monday. Nearly three days-'_

Suddenly, his thoughts just _stopped_. Wilson watched as House bent over his leg, hissing as another cramp wracked the tired muscle. He rubbed it franticly, throwing his head back and staring at the ceiling.

This continued on for several minutes, until the cramping let up. '_God,' _House thought tiredly. His thoughts seemed like they were coming through on a bad connection. '_How the hell am I going to piss? When was the last time I _ate_? I certainly can't get up right now. The last thing I want to do is fall flat on my ass and have to explain that to the ducklings.' _

Wilson paused to quirk a smile at House's nickname for his team, but he wasn't smiling for long.

'_I'm a moron for not leaving the morphine within reach. Why did I think putting it way up there was even close to a good idea? I use it for breakthrough pain… so I put it where I can't reach it. Yeah. Real intelligent, genius.'_

Wilson rounded on Kutner. "He keeps _morphine _here?"

Kutner's eyes flashed. Suddenly, Wilson felt that horrible pain in his thigh again, and he cried out and fell to his knees. Kutner's voice cut through his agony, but his words were just as angry.

"You'd keep morphine around too, if your leg did that to you on a regular basis," he hissed furiously. "Try walking on that. I _dare _you."

"You're right! _You're right!_" Wilson cried frantically, until the pain faded. He felt ashamed of himself, and not just because he was crying like a girl over pain House dealt with constantly. Of _course _House kept morphine around.

House's thoughts cut through his own. '_Damn. I'm not going to get any sleep if this doesn't stop. I could try a hot bath, but… if I fall, I'm on my own. No. better not do that.' _

'_What was that?' _he thought, as he heard a car pull up in front of his building. With a sense of foreboding, they both realized that it was Wilson pulling up.

_Oh, no. Not him. _

Wilson felt sort of hurt, until he heard House's next thought. '_I don't want to snap at him. But I don't want him to see me like this. It'll kill him.'_

'_And on top of this, I can't deal with a lecture, which he's sure to give me when I mention that I need my prescription refilled, again. "You're abusing them, House. You're addicted, House"'_ he mocked, his mind mimicking Wilson's voice perfectly. Wilson flinched to hear his own harsh words like that._ 'For God's sake, I'm _dependent_. Without them I'd be in pain like this on a regular basis. But does he know about that? No. And do I plan on telling him that? Obviously not.' _

It seemed like House was defending Wilson in his own mind. Wilson couldn't help but feel he didn't really deserve it.

House sighed. '_Can you blame him, Greg? The things are killing you. But I need them. They're the only things that work without making me fuzzy. It's not like I work on morphine, I'm not that stupid.' _

House was arguing with himself, back and forth. '_I've tried a hundred other things. Nothing works. And even now, Vicodin fails me sometimes. Damn it! I'm so _tired _of being in pain!'_

Wilson heard himself knock on the door. '_No. Please, Wilson, go away. I don't want to rip you apart. You're all I have.'_

Of course, he opened the door. Wilson felt a vague sense of disgust for himself as he unlocked the door, striding in.

From this angle, of course, he could see what he hadn't last night. House was breathing fast, pain making his thoughts bump and hitch like a car on a dirt road. His eyes were tightly shut and sweat was dripping down his neck, drenching his tee shirt.

House opened his eyes, turning with effort to look at Wilson. '_Gotta get him out of here before I get another cramp. I can't put him back in that pitiful position, man's gotta live his own life. Come on Greg, suck it up. You know he'll see it on your face if you let him, and it's only a matter of time before he's tired of you… just like Stacy was.'_

House's real voice was much steadier than his thoughts, and Wilson took a moment to marvel at how well he hid the pain. "Go away, Wilson. I'm tired and I don't feel like it tonight."

His thoughts held more truth. '_God, I sound like a total ass. But that's the goal, isn't it? Better if he gets mad, than if he gives up all together.'_

House got desperate as Wilson came closer. '_He gets around the couch, and he'll know something's wrong, and he'll freak.' _"Did you not hear me? Get the hell out!"

'_Damn!' _House thought as another cramp began. Wilson swallowed as his inner dialogue faded to a bad cell phone connection. '_Calm down, Greg. Calm down or you're going to scream out loud, and he'll never leave you alone.' _

Wilson wanted to slap himself.

"Why?"

'_Because I don't want to snap at you and say something incredibly awful because I'm in pain. Because I still want you to want to be around me on good days, because I need you. You're all I have.' _

"I don't want you here?" '_God, that came out as a question. Be more forceful, or he's not going to believe you!'_

Wilson had snapped then. "Really? You really don't? Because I seem to be over here a lot when you supposedly don't want me, but it seems like I do a lot of cleaning up your wasted ass for you to resent me."

'_Yeah, you do. And thank you. _Thank _you. But I don't want your pity. Tonight, you need to leave, because you _don't_ need to see me in breakthrough pain. I might get past even your needy meter, and then you'll leave me alone and won't come back, and I'll end up killing myself.'_

"That's fine with me, Jimmy, if you need to stroke your ego by hanging around a needy cripple. But tonight, you need to go back to your lonely apartment, with no wife to keep you company, and leave me the hell alone!"

'_Jesus Christ, that was harsh. But look at his face. He should be mad enough to leave you alone now, and he won't have to stick around to keep me together. I can manage. I think.' _

"Fine! And don't you dare call me for a ride in the morning!"

Wilson watched himself stomp out, totally oblivious to House's inner reasoning.

House winced, letting a shuddering breath escape him as the door slammed. The cramp took over, and he rubbed at it until it eased a bit and he could think clearly. '_Okay, obviously I took it too far. It's raining, and it'll be raining tomorrow too. Can't take the bike, obviously. And I can't drive like this. If I cramp up in the middle of the road I'll crash and end up smashing into some old lady. Damn.'_

House closed his eyes. '_I guess I'm calling a cab. I sure as hell aint riding the bus.'_

Wilson physically flinched as broken up images of the crash and Amber flitted through House's head.

"And I didn't take him, either. God, I'm an ass," Wilson mumbled to Kutner.

Kutner didn't look at him, instead focusing on House. "Well, he does hide pain pretty well. His point was to drive you away, Wilson, so don't beat yourself up about him getting his way."

Wilson didn't really feel absolved of anything.

House's thoughts stopped Wilson's guilt trip. _'SHIT!' _he practically hissed, and lunged for a trash can that was sitting close to the couch. His mind went blank, then he was violently ill into the bin.

Wilson winced at the sound of dry heaving. Nothing but bile, and two half dissolved pills, came out of House's mouth. Obviously, he hadn't eaten in a long while.

House's shoulders were shaking by the time he was done, and his thoughts slowly floated back to the surface. '_Damn. Did I just pull an ab muscle?' _He leaned back marginally, and inhaled a sharp, irritated breath. _'Yep. That's going to be real fun tomorrow. Like I didn't have enough to deal with.'_

He popped the cap to his pill bottle and shook out three, tossing them back and chewing them up, and he grimaced at the bitter taste. _'Hopefully these will stay down long enough to actually do something,' _he thought darkly, laying back into the couch and pressing his hands into his eyes, sighing heavily.

The clock flicked over to 1:00 AM.

**Satisfactory, or more past? Let me know in reviews. **

**-Harper**


	5. Chapter 5

**And here's a nice, long chapter for you. Odds are the next one will be a bit, I'm currently quite enamored with real life. That's bound to end soon though (small sob) so I'll fall back on fan fiction as usual. **

Kutner tilted his head, and suddenly it was a bit past five. Wilson blinked and stared around. The sun was just beginning to lighten the horizon.

House had obviously not slept in the four hours that had passed. He looked exhausted, staring at the T.V. with his eyes half closed, the irises unfocused. His right hand was methodically rubbing his thigh, though it seemed to be doing little to ease the stiffness.

Wilson frowned. "What he do in the last few hours, Kutner?"

Kutner twitched. "Not much. Around three he puked again."

Wilson winced.

Slowly, House checked his watch.

'_Five. Damn. What did I get, an hour of sleep?' _

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. _'I guess I'd better start getting ready.'_

Wilson's mouth hung open, momentarily forgetting this was the past, and he knew full and well House was going to work that day. "He didn't seriously just say that. Who'd be going to work in that kind of pain?"

"House, apparently. You're forgetting, Dr. Wilson, that this happens to him pretty regularly. Have you ever known him to take a sick day? _Ever?" _

Wilson swallowed. How the hell was House planning on getting to work?

He watched, painfully unable to help, as House pried himself off the couch. He leaned heavily on his cane, his eyes closed, short breaths shooting in and out of his nose. In what looked like a painfully practiced movement, he tested his own weight on a leg that was never supposed to be damaged in the first place. When he tried to take a step forward, he collapsed sideways.

Wilson tried to jump forward to catch him, but he couldn't help in the slightest. House fell right through his hands, catching himself on the armrest of the couch with his right arm, dropping his cane with a clatter on the wooden floor.

Wilson was distraught, but House simply gritted his teeth and fell back to the couch like it was nothing, something he did all the time.

'_Stupid to think I'd be getting off easy, after a night like that. Greg, when are you going to learn to take that 'optimism' and shove it? You're thinking like Wilson lately.'_

After taking a deep, steadying breath and pulling his cane to him with his left foot, he lurched upwards again, clutching at his pulled abdominal muscle. He swayed for a moment, dizzy, but after a long, tense minute, he stepped forward with more success.

Wilson followed him as he limped heavily and slowly through the hall, his hand supporting his weight. He could see the visible strain his shoulder was going through at the moment, just trying to keep him upright.

It was nearly six by the time House got into the shower. Wilson didn't follow him in there (even he had limits) but he knew House was struggling from his thoughts. They were abstract and tired, sometimes frustrated.

At seven forty five, House limped out of the bathroom (thankfully with a towel over his nether regions) and collapsed on his bed, exhausted from the effort of a shower. Wilson watched with a feeling of relief when House finally fell into a light doze; though he was still in his towel and soaking wet, he needed all the rest he could get.

The relief didn't last long, though. Kunter blinked, and it was nearly an hour later, at eight thirty, when the phone rang.

House jerked upright at the sound, startled out of his light sleep. His hands immediately went to his leg, which had tensed up at the sudden movement. _'Heh,' _he thought cynically. _'Of course.'_

He didn't make an attempt to get out of the bed, just sat there rubbing his leg and shivering, his hair still damp. The answering machine beeped, and after House's less than welcoming voicemail, Cuddy's voice filled the apartment.

"House, answer the damn phone. You should be _up _by now. You'd better be on time today, because you've got clinic duty, and if you miss any more I'm going to double your hours for the next month. I'm going to call again in five minutes, and you better damn well answer as fresh as a daisy."

House winced as Cuddy hung up. _'And the day begins…'_

He lurched upwards, stumbling a bit before catching his balance on the dresser. He threw on a shirt, wincing slightly as he strained the pulled muscle, and carted his pants, socks, and underwear back to the bed. He sat down heavily, gritting his teeth as he slipped on a pair of boxers.

Wilson looked back after he was done with his underwear, and caught a glimpse of that horrible scar before House pulled on a pair of pants.

The man had let him see it so rarely after the weeks after the infarction that he'd nearly forgotten what it looked like. It made him wince in sympathy, and, unfortunately, pity. He was glad, for the first time, that he was invisible; House's reaction to his facial expression would have been akin to a nuclear explosion.

House bent over and laboriously put on his shoes, tying the right one loosely. The foot was swollen after a few days of fierce cramping, and House's thoughts were clear; he was taking no chance on impairing the blood circulation.

While he was in the middle of that, the phone rang again. House glanced up, and rolled his eyes. '_Damn that woman. Doesn't she know I'm carrying out the important and taxing mission of tying my shoes?'_

Cuddy's shrill voice rang through the speaker. "House! Get off your lazy ass and answer the phone! I'm not hanging up until you do!"

She continued to rant, and House huffed under his breath. He stood up slowly, limping heavily to the living room to _'shut her up, if nothing else.'_

The phone was just out of his reach when Cuddy hissed exasperatedly and exclaimed, "Fine, I'm going to call your cell. Answer that, or you're in the hole with four more clinic hours, _this week._"

House tried to pick it up, but she'd already disconnected.

His phone rang from his bedroom.

He glared in the general direction of the offending device. _'Now would be a great time to have the force,' _he thought, a true star wars nerd. He held up his hands, cane dangling from his wrist, and mockingly tired to 'summon' the phone.

He sighed and sat down on the couch when his cell didn't come whizzing into his hand.

When it stopped ringing, House called Cuddy, pressing the speaker button so he could finish tying his shoes.

"Hello, Cuddles," he said, false cheer in his voice. "I'm assuming you meant talk like a moronic, clueless human, because flowers don't actually _speak, _but-"

Cuddy cut him off angrily. "Why didn't you answer the damn phone?"

'_Um, let's see, because my leg fucking _hurts _and I didn't want to go gallivanting around the house to talk to you, miss sunshine?' _

"I was letting the suspense build before you talked to me… you know what they say, the longer you wait, the sweeter it is when you get it."

Her voice was similar in consistency to antifreeze. "Oh, you're right, House, this _is _sweet; I love giving you extra clinic duty."

House twitched. He _really _didn't want to spend more time than he already did walking back and forth between patient rooms, dealing with morons while he tried not to vomit up his pain medication. "Actually, I'm going to be late."

"And _why _is that?"

'_Because I made Wilson mad last night, and he doesn't want to deal with me, and I don't want to have a spasm in the car and crash, and I physically _can not _ride my bike at the moment, and I don't want to get on a bus because every time I do I think about Wilson's dead girlfriend, so I'm going to have to call a cab. Because I need to eat _something _before I pass out from low blood sugar, and I have nothing except a jar of peanut butter in the pantry. Because the fact that I'm coming into work at all should shock you, but it doesn't, because you don't actually care and neither does anyone else, but that's to be expected because I treat you all like the sticky stuff I find under my Nikes.'_

"Having a bit of car trouble."

Cuddy scoffed. "Ride that death machine you call a bike."

"It's in the shop."

"Call Wilson."

"Yeah… no. I don't know if you know this, Cuddy, but Wilson isn't _actually _gay for me. I know it may seem like it sometimes, but…"

"Just get to work on time, House! For once!"

"Why are you so focused on this right now? Did the little brat give you a hard time last night?"

Cuddy fumed, successfully thrown off track of House's growing collection of lies. "Do _not _call my child a brat, you ass. You have _eight _extra hours of clinic, and I better see you here within the next hour."

She hung up.

House apathetically hit the speaker button with his cane, shutting the phone off with a loud beep.

The man looked around, sighing, and then closed his eyes. _'Guess I'd better call a cab.'_

It was nearly ten thirty by the time House got into the cab. After tossing in his back pack and awkwardly sliding into the back seat, House directed the man to the hospital and they set off.

Wilson blinked, and suddenly they were outside in the parking lot. He checked his watch, which oddly enough, was running with the current time that he was in now. It was close to eleven thirty now.

He looked to Kutner questioningly. The departed doctor shrugged. "Cab driver took the long way when he saw his customer was asleep."

In fact, House was arguing with him in that moment. "No, I will _not _pay that much. I'm not some damn tourist you can trick into paying a huge fee for a fifteen minute drive. _No, _and that's final. This is all you're getting."

He shoved a few bills into the window, limping away, his bag slung over his shoulder. The cabbie grumbled to himself and drove away.

House entered the lobby of the hospital, walking slower than usual. He managed to avoid the gaze of Cuddy, who'd been growing more agitated with each passing minute that her diagnostician hadn't shown, and slipped into the hallway leading to the cafeteria.

Wilson watched, amazed, as, lo and behold, House paid for his own meal. The doctor awkwardly carried a tray in his left hand and limped to an empty table. Wilson was suddenly struck with why House so often let the oncologist buy and carry his food for him; it was simply hard for him to carry it at all.

House picked at his food, his thoughts overriding the din of the lunchroom. _'Not hungry. Nauseous, actually. But that's to be expected with the amount of drugs I'm pushing. I need to eat…'_

He unwillingly shoved down a dry bite of toast, grimacing at the taste. Wilson was amazed, and a little sickened. He'd never seen House so upset with food before. Usually the man was shoving down every bit of stolen food he could get.

"There could be a reason for that," Kutner said abruptly, and Wilson was vaguely disturbed to realize that Kutner had heard his every thought.

The oncologist was struck by how little House weighed, now that he'd really looked closely at him. Jesus, did the man only eat when he was around Wilson? It seemed like it, with the total lack of food in House's apartment and his seeming inability to cook for himself.

Eventually, House stopped trying to eat. With only about a fourth of the tray downed, he dumped the food in the trash and limped out of the lunchroom, sliding into an open elevator.

Wilson and Kutner entered after him, but of course, to House, when the doors closed, he was alone. He leaned forward and rested his head on the double doors, closing his eyes. _'Damn leg. Damn stomach. Damn nasty ass lunchroom toast. Damn everything,' _he thought tiredly, pulling all the weight he could off his right leg. For that one moment in the elevator, he let his gruff mask slide, and really, truly let it show how much he was hurting, both mentally and physically.

By the time the doors opened, though, the mask was back in place. He limped out of he elevator, head down, shoulders tight, sending off actual, tangible waves of 'leave me the hell alone.'

It seemed to be working well, because Chase came at him with a chart, then abruptly shut his mouth and turned around to the DDX room without a word. House watched his retreating figure with a hint of amusement. _'At least the damn kid knows when I'm not in the mood. How many years has he worked with me, and he's still scarred shitless. It's positively endearing.'_

He opened the door to his office with some difficulty, swinging his bag off of his shoulder.

That, of course, was when Wilson barged in.

**DUN DUN DUUUNNN! What will we see from House's point of view in the up and coming confrontation? Stay tuned, until next time, I'll be here all week, tip your waitress, and all those other cliche sayings. **


	6. Chapter 6

**So here's the next chapter, guys! I plan on finishing this up in one or two more chaps. Excuse the slight Amber rabbit trails. I apologize for the shortness, there just wasn't a good way to end it. **

"So, you finally get to work?"

Wilson winced at his harsh tone, watching House closely for a reaction. The man's face didn't change as he practically fell into his office chair. From this angle, Wilson could see what he hadn't been able to that morning; House was rubbing his thigh methodically with his right hand. His mind was pretty much blank, silently absorbing his friend lecture him.

"Cuddy was on my ass all morning long, looking for you. You know how far behind on clinic hours you are? And she comes to me, like it's my fault that you're an irresponsible ass."

God, he was a moron. House's thoughts floated into and out of his mind. '_So sorry for having ambulatory issues in the morning. Infarction ring a bell? And irresponsible. That's rich. Who was it that refused to give me a ride, even though you knew I'd need it?'_

"Well, I'm here now, _mom. _Kindly get out and let me do my job."

"So, what, did you spend the night getting wasted?"

Wilson's assumption had been dead wrong, but he could still see where he'd gotten the idea. House looked like crap. Only now, he knew it was because he'd spent a sleepless night in pain and sickness.

House stiffened, but his thoughts flowed super fast. '_Yeah, sure, I was drunk. If that's what you want to believe, I'll give it to you. Not really a stretch of the imagination, is it? Whatever it takes, Jimmy.' _

"Sure."

Wilson watched himself get furious, and he wanted to run over and shake the man he hardly recognized as James Wilson. _Hello! Can't you see he's in agony? Wake up!_

"Jesus Christ, House!" Wilson exploded. He'd had enough. "When are you going to grow up? And stop being such an ass!"

House turned away. _'Let him think what he wants to think. It's better than the alternative.'_

"Fine!" Wilson shouted. "I'm gonna go tell Cuddy you've finally arrived so she can get off my ass and onto yours!"

'_Of course you are,' _House thought tiredly, as Wilson stalked out of his office. _'Why would you want to give me a millisecond of peace before I have to do the next showing of "House, the Asshole?"'_

Wilson had never had the chance to inform Cuddy of House's presence, but she found out all the same. Nearly an hour later, House was dozing in his Eames chair, one hand on his leg, when Cuddy came storming into the office.

"House!" she screeched.

He jerked upwards, his left hand flying to his stomach to brace the pulled muscle, his right to his leg to ease the tension. "Huh?" he asked blearily.

"You're sleeping. Really? _Really?" _Cuddy asked incredulously, a disbelieving smile on her face. "You come in at noon and you still have the balls to go to sleep."

House kept his face totally devoid of emotion. Wilson was impressed. He'd have blown up by now for sure. And to think, he berated House for having no self control.

"Well you know, I've got to stay beautiful. Wouldn't want to disappoint those adoring fans."

Cuddy snarled, all smiles forgotten. "You have clinic duty to do."

House's mind protested while his mouth did not. '_If I can actually get down to the clinic without passing out, I'll be happy. Treating patients, though… that might be an issue, seeing as how I can't stand up without wanting to vomit.'_

"Oh, but _Cuddles…_"

Cuddy's eyes spat fire. "No buts. I'm so tired of this bullshit, House! Just do your damn job!"

'_I'm TRYING! What the hell do you think I'm doing here? Arranging flowers?'_

"But that's so _mainstream, _Cuddy. I like to go against the trend."

Cuddy was oblivious to the fact that he was, in fact, attempting to stand without hurting himself. "If I don't see you down there in two minutes I'm adding another three hours. Hurry up!"

As she strode out the door, a real, definable sadness entered House's eyes.

"Two minutes? For a cripple?" he questioned her retreating backside, not even pausing to admire the view. '_As much as I hate admitting it, it'll take me longer than that just to stand up right.'_

"I'm sure you'll manage," she replied tartly, not even turning around to face him.

As House sighed, the scene faded to black.

Wilson sat down hard on the black floor, wrapping both hands behind his neck. "Oh, God. Kutner… I…"

Kutner's dark eyes pierced him. "This not have been a wasted trip, Dr. Wilson."

Wilson shook his head adamantly. "No. No, it wasn't. I need… I need to talk to House. Now."

Kutner smiled approvingly, offering Wilson a hand. "Then I'll take you back to the present, Dr. Wilson. I'm glad you're seeing the light."

Wilson stared up at the younger doctor. "Kutner?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you… spoken to Amber?"

Kutner's eyes softened with understanding. "Amber loves you, Wilson. But she wants you to move on. She enjoys you speaking to her, but she told me to tell you that you need to let go."

Wilson's eyes filled with tears. "Why… doesn't she tell me that herself?"

Kutner looked away, suddenly shifty. "Well… I'll put it this way. If there's one thing I learned from House, it's that you shouldn't always play by the rules. Me being here, talking to you… that's not really angel territory."

Kutner pulled Wilson up to a standing position. "Which is why I _really _should be going. And obviously, you can't tell anyone about this."

"No, really?" Wilson asked sarcastically, chuckling. "Who'd believe me anyway?"

Kutner clasped a hand over his back, hugging him tightly in a brotherly way. The world started spinning again.

Just before the blackness faded, Kutner shouted one last request.

"Dr. Wilson!" he yelled over the din. "One last thing!"

"Of course!"

"Tell House there was nothing he could have done to stop my death, okay?"

Wilson found himself nodding to his own empty office.

**AAAALLLLLLLLL-Righty then! Next chapter will be posted soon. Reviews make the world go 'round!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Short update, because I didn't want y'all to think I'd abandoned the thing. Sorry for the delay; I've been helping out at my church's VBS and haven't had much time to work on it. **

Wilson checked his watch, amazed to see that it was already ten at night. He hurriedly packed his case, stuffing things in willy-nilly, and strode out the door.

He checked the diagnostics office hopefully, but the lights were off and the doors were locked. House had apparently already found his way home, probably by cab again.

Wilson's mind was working in overdrive as he walked quickly out the double doors to his car. How was he going to explain his newfound knowledge and insight to House? Telling him about Kutner certainly wasn't an option. House would scoff at him and probably never let him live it down.

No, he had to be subtle.

He drove way faster than normal on his way to House's apartment. He supposed he ought to be thanking God for the lack of traffic cops around.

He pulled up in front of 221B Baker Street and hurried to the door, knocking loudly.

"House, Its Wilson! Can I come in?" Wilson asked this time, conscious of the night before where he'd just barged right inside.

"No!" replied a hoarse, angry voice. Wilson thought, if he listened hard enough, he could hear the tiny desperation in House's tone. "Go away!"

"House, I have a key, and I'm coming in, sorry. There's nothing you can do about it."

True to his word, Wilson unlocked the door and came in, flipping on a light.

House's position was eerily similar to what it had been last night. He was laid out on the couch, his left leg hunched up and his right stretched out.

Wilson came around the couch, ignoring House's steely glare. He looked hard, determined to catch everything he'd been missing. The oncologist took in House's sweat stained shirt, his paleness, and a tremor his hands had developed.

"House, you're an idiot."

His friend blinked in surprise, then looked angry. "Is that all, mother? Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out, Wilson."

Wilson shook his head. "Where's your morphine stash?"

Shock and fear warred on House's face, and Wilson could, practically, hear his thoughts. _It isn't enough that I'm already hurting, but now he's going to take away my meds?_

He didn't answer, but he did send an involuntary glance to the top of his bookshelf. Wilson grabbed a step ladder out of the kitchen and dragged it over, hopping up it and searching the top of the shelf for the box he knew had morphine in it.

He finally found it in an old, false book, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

When he came down off the step ladder, House was facing the couch, looking away from his friend. Wilson could actually _see _the tremors in his right leg. His hands were clenched in shaking fists by his sides. Wilson wasn't sure if it was anger or pain that was making him do that; when he thought about it, it was probably a combination of the two.

Wilson quickly drew out the right dose of morphine, flicked the vial, and set it on the table. Gently, he took House's tense arm and tied a tourniquet around it.

House's eyes found his, the diagnostician's filled with stunned disbelief. "Wilson… what're you..?"

Wilson cut him off, picking up the syringe and slowly pushing the drugs into House's system. "House, again, you're an _idiot._ When you're in pain… just _tell _me."

House just stared at him, his eyes clouding slightly as the drug entered into his system. "But how'd you…"

Wilson grinned, recognizing his friend was more than a little goofy under the influence of strong narcotics. "Call it my spidey-senses."

House's eyes fluttered. He was exhausted, mentally and physically beat by the past few days. However, he fought the drugs and the rest they promised, gripping Wilson's shirt.

"Where were you 'day?" House demanded groggily. "Cuddy said… fam' 'mergency."

Wilson shook his head. Even dealing with his own hell, House still managed to worry about him. "It was nothing, House. I just played hooky."

House grinned. "Slimy… bastard…" he accused Wilson playfully. Then he dropped like a rock in the water, his head landing on the couch with a thud as he began to sleep well for the first time in days. His arm slipped down, relaxed hand no longer clutching Wilson's dress shirt.

Wilson smiled slightly, disposing of the sharp in an empty jar he found in House's cabinet. Leave it to House to switch from caring to insulting in less than two minutes. He was going to have to be careful, though, if House asked him again; probably the only reason he'd gotten away with it was because he was drugged up to his eyeballs.

While House slept, Wilson went about cooking an actual meal for him. He was hoping that the sleep would restore House's appetite enough for him to get a good meal down; Wilson was determined to get his weight back to a healthy number.

He looked through House's cabinets, dismayed to see that House had _nothing _to eat. The cabinets were empty aside from a dried up avocado (most likely from Wilson's last stay at his apartment) and half a jar of peanut butter. The only other thing in the apartment that was edible was the liquor.

Wilson sighed and grabbed his keys to get some groceries. With how much morphine he'd given House, he'd sleep for hours. Wilson had plenty of time to grab some actual food.

By the time he got back it was well into the night. He pushed open the door with his foot, gratified to see that House was still snoring on the couch, one arm over his head and one draped over the edge of the couch. His mouth was wide open, and he was breathing deeply.

Wilson put up the groceries, then set about cooking. He tossed up some pancakes and other breakfast foods, putting them in a container in the fridge for later. He cooked several other dishes as well, including spaghetti and lasagna and a few others. He was determined to make sure House was eating, and there was no better way to do that than tempt him with his home cooked food.

When he was finally done, he washed the dishes and traipsed wearily into the living room, settling down into a chair next to the couch. He could doze until House woke up, but then, they needed to talk. As an afterthought, Wilson placed a call in to his boss.

Cuddy answered graciously, considering the time of night. "Hello?"

"Hey, Cuddy, it's Wilson," the oncologist informed her.

"Oh, hey. Did everything go okay?"

"Everything went great, but I have a favor to ask. I need to take tomorrow off."

"That's fine."

"… And I need House to have the day off too."

Cuddy's voice hardened at his second plea. "If House wants to play hooky he better damn well ask me himself, so I can tell _him _no."

"He can't ask you, and he wouldn't anyway. _I'm _asking you. Please, Cuddy."

He could practically hear Cuddy frowning. "I… oh, alright. But tell him he owes me."

Wilson didn't contest the demand. "Sure thing. Thanks."

Cuddy sighed and hung up.

Wilson sent one last glance at House before settling in. "Man, buddy," Wilson sighed to his unconscious form, squeezing his arm. "We _really _need to clear up some things."

**Next chapter gets pretty angsty. Reviews make the world go 'round!**


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning Wilson startled awake to a door slamming. He groaned and stretched, feeling the ache of the night in the chair.

He listened for House, and heard the shower running. After looking at his watch, he smirked; it was a bit past eight. House was probably going to go right back to sleep when he told him he'd gotten him a day off.

While House showered, Wilson warmed up the food he'd cooked last night. As he worked, he thought about how he was going to breach House's tall, sturdy defenses to get the man to open up. It would take time, that was for sure. He couldn't really go at this in a direct way; if he tried, he'd get kicked out on his ass and ignored until he dropped it. No, he had to be gentle and careful.

House limped into the kitchen in jeans and a teeshirt, furrowing his brow when he saw the oncologist cooking breakfast and still in his clothes from the night before. "Wilson, if you're going to change, you'd better hurry up. It's eight forty five."

Wilson shook his head. "We aren't going to work today."

House snorted and sat at the table. "Yeah, good luck convincing Cuddy to let me off. She's in a royal tizzy over how far I am behind on clinic."

"I already convinced her. Unlike you, House, I'm nice enough that I can get a favor or two without blackmail."

House rolled his eyes, then examined Wilson. The oncologist didn't look at him, concentrating on re-warming the eggs in the pan.

"Why'd you come over last night?"

Wilson swallowed. So, it began.

"I was worried."

"You're always worried. You breathe worry. _Why _did you come over? You seemed pretty pissed off that morning."

Wilson stared at the eggs, listening to the faint sizzle they made in the pan. "I spent the day thinking,"

He turned to House, who was watching him with open curiosity. "and I figured something out."

"What would that be?"

"You push people away," Wilson began, but House interrupted him.

"Bravo, Jimmy, it only took you the better part of twenty years to figure that out."

"I'm not done. You push people away _more forcefully _when you're really hurting. Yesterday morning, you let me think you were wasted. Why did you let me do that?"

House rolled his eyes. "I _was _hung over."

"No you weren't. You just didn't sleep."

House squinted at him, then looked around the apartment. "What are you doing?" Wilson asked him after a moment.

"Looking for the camera."

He rolled his eyes. At least House was admitting he was right.

"You've been having breakthrough pain for, what, the past few days?"

House cocked his head to the side. "…Yeah… I was," he answered carefully, too curious to see how the oncologist had known to lie about it. It was done, for now, so there was no point in him pissing off Wilson anymore than usual.

"Why didn't you ask me for help?"

House squinted. "Would you have? Helped me?"

Wilson was stunned. "Of course I would have!"

House crossed his arms over his chest. "Any other time I've had an increase in pain, you blow it off as something emotional. Of course, this time there was nothing going on, so I _suppose _you might have helped me out… then again, you might have pulled some emotional turmoil out of your hat for me to chew on…"

Wilson was slightly hurt, but also quite guilty. House had a point.

"I gave you the drugs last night, didn't I?"

House's eyes softened for a moment, but they were still hard around the edges. "Yeah. I'm glad, that broke the cycle and put it back at baseline. I still don't get what got you over here, though."

Wilson turned off the stove, placing eggs and pancakes on a plate and handing it to House. The doctor set it down without so much as a glance, his ice blue eyes searching Wilson for an answer.

The younger doctor tried to sidestep the question. "You know, you could just _tell _Cuddy why you were late to work."

House narrowed his eyes. "And why would that be?"

Wilson winced. He'd stepped right into that one. "I'm assuming you have trouble getting going in the morning, during breakthrough episodes like that."

House stared at him silently. Finally, Wilson admitted defeat. "And, also because I didn't give you a ride…" he mumbled, looking down.

House gave him a short nod, finally taking a bite of the pancake. He didn't say anything, but Wilson could tell by the look on his face he found it delicious.

Wilson tried to pull himself back up. "But, I didn't give you a ride because you were being an asshole on purpose to get me pissed off. House, you don't have to push me away when you're in pain. I'm your friend. I _want _to help you."

House swallowed the bite of pancake thickly and looked down, fidgeting with his fork. "Jimmy, eventually you're going to get your fill of me and you're going to leave me alone. I'm just trying to prolong the process."

Wilson frowned, grabbing House's hand to stop him. House looked up at him silently. "House, I'm not going to get _tired _of you. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Why can't you just accept the fact that I'm always going to be here for you?"

House looked away again, swallowing uncomfortably. Wilson removed his hand and used it to massage the back of his neck. Thanks to Kutner, he knew _exactly _why House had trouble accepting unconditional devotion and love.

He pursed his lips, trying to think of a way to fraise it so House would understand.

"Look, Greg," he insisted, using his first name to gain his attention. House looked back at him evenly, his eyes uncertain. "I understand you have trust issues. Stacy probably didn't exactly reaffirm your belief in love. I haven't done the best job in sticking around…"

Wilson was the one to look away this time. He cleared his throat. "Amber… that wasn't your fault, House. I'm sorry I made you do the DBS, and I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I was wrong."

House stared at him for a moment, his mouth open. He blinked, pulling himself together. "Wilson, I'd trust you with my life. And I was never mad at you."

"I know you weren't. That makes me kind of feel worse. You _don't _deserve to be in pain, House. I know you think you do somehow, but there's never a reason for something like this."

House caught a hold of Wilson's arm, his thin fingers holding him tightly. Wilson finally looked up to see House's eyes staring him down. "Wilson. Stop it with this guilt trip. I don't know what's gotten into you, but you're suddenly acting like you accidentally ran over a puppy."

Wilson couldn't stop the short laugh that bubbled up out of him. "I'm just… I did a lot of thinking yesterday. House, I have a question for you."

House raised his eyebrows, listening silently.

The question popped out suddenly, on a whim. "Can I move back in?"

House rolled his eyes. "When have you ever needed to ask? Mi casa es su casa."

Wilson felt a small, warm feeling bloom in his chest. "Thanks."

They finished eating in silence. Wilson glanced around the apartment once House was done.

"I need to call that cleaning lady."

House raised an eyebrow. "Just moved in and already taking over. My, Jimmy, you work fast."

Wilson rolled his eyes, trying to interject serious talk into casual conversation. If he was going to get anywhere with House, he needed House to admit to his childhood abuse. It wasn't something Wilson could just stumble upon or guess. House had to tell him personally.

"House, I've been wanting to ask you this for a long time," Wilson began, standing to do the dishes like it was no big deal if House answered or not. "Why were you so against going to your dad's funeral?"

"He wasn't my dad," House pointed out sharply, but he didn't answer the question.

"Still. You grew up with him; he was married to your mom. You really didn't care about him at all?"

House was quiet for a long time, and eventually Wilson snuck a glance at him. He was rubbing his leg slowly, his head down. "We didn't get on."

Wilson swallowed. That was the understatement of the year.

"What do you mean? You just didn't like each other?"

House snorted. "_He _didn't like _me."_

Wilson stopped doing the dishes, leaving the water running. It was the only sound in the silent apartment, aside from his pounding heart. He was _so close _to getting House to open up to him.

"My dad and I were alright. He was never _really_ there, though. I mean, he was physically, but he didn't really work hard at being a dad, you know?" Wilson offered, hoping to get something in return.

House scoffed. "I was pretty much the happiest when he was on leave. The weeks where he was home were the worst."

Wilson shut off the water, turning to face his friend. House was looking down at the table.

"House. Did he hit you?" Wilson asked suddenly, giving the direct approach a try.

House visibly flinched, but his words tried to contradict his actions. "Wilson, I'm a fifty year old man, not a beaten housewife. Stop with the interrogation, the man's dead."

Wilson leaned up against the counter. "So yes, then."

House frowned at him. "Stop brining up the past, Wilson. What's done is done and there's nothing you can do about it. And when did you get so damn perceptive anyway?"

_The moment a ghost started showing me a play by play of your sucky life, _Wilson thought.

"House. I've known you for twenty years. You never said anything, not even when we forced you to go to his funeral. Why?"

House's cheeks reddened, something Wilson was both surprised and dismayed to see. "House?"

"He physically and mentally abused me, Wilson. Excuse me for not wanting to bring that up. I'd kind of buried said memories until the funeral, and I'm working on burring them again. Stop digging up graves."

Wilson wanted to hug the man, but he doubted that House would take that kind of display of affection very kindly. Instead, he handed him a cup of coffee just the way he liked it. House set it down without even tasting it.

"House, your dad was a cold hearted bastard."

"Funny, I've heard you say the same about me."

Wilson winced. "He was on a whole different level. No parent has the right to abuse a child."

House shrugged. "I was mouthy. And rude. I probably deserved some of it."

Wilsons' eyes widened. House was a _textbook _abuse victim. He had all the signs of someone abused as a child. Why had he not seen it?

"House. What did he do?"

House frowned, scooting back. "Plenty."

"Come on."

House rolled his eyes, huffing impatiently. "Use your imagination. If you can dream it, he probably did it."

Wilson gulped, intentionally taking it wrong. "You mean… like… rape?"

House gave him a disgusted look. "It was never sexual. Just sleeping outside and ice bathes and the occasional beating."

Wilson knew he was getting the bare bones of it, but at least it was _something. _"And the mental?"

House grimaced. "If there was anything I learned from him, it was how to hit a person right where it hurts the most."

That statement revealed more than House intended for it too, and the pair sat in silence for a long moment.

"I'm sorry, House," Wilson offered solemnly after a long while, getting up.

House followed suit, albeit a bit more slowly. "Let's watch a bad movie. There's too much angst in here, I'm choking on it."

Wilson smirked. They still had a lot to talk about, but it was a start.

**This one's going to be finished up quite soon. And no, I didn't forget about Wilson's promise to Kutner. I'm planning on putting that in the epilogue. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Note: This chapter is more from House's point of view, because… well, because. And if you aren't cool with male "life partners"… *ahem* might want to skip this one. Nothing explicit, though, just simple fluff. **

Two months later

House stared up at the ceiling of his bedroom. It was two in the morning, and he'd just been jolted awake by the beginnings of what looked to be severe breakthrough pain in his leg.

Great.

He listened to the outside world for a moment, trying to ignore the urge to fidget and stay still. Yep, it was raining heavily outside. The barometric pressure was wreaking havoc in his leg, and would do so until the rain stopped and the front moved on.

He bit his cheek as the pain ramped up a few more notches. Wilson was here, asleep on the couch. He didn't want to…

House slammed the breaks on that train of thought. What had Wilson been lecturing him about for the past few months? He knew he could trust the oncologist, at least rationally. But it was the elusive, undefined fear in his chest that tried to keep him from calling out; fear of being rejected, of being ignored.

House swallowed. This was the first time since that night that he'd had breakthrough pain, what with a wonderful combination of forecast cooperation and Wilson's meddling.

The oncologist had taken it upon himself to talk to Cuddy, something House was both surprised and pleased by. He'd been in Cuddy's office, being lectured for being late that day, as well as for missing work the next, when Wilson strode in.

House had looked up at the younger doctor, confused. "Wilson, I need your help," he half joked. "Satan's yelling at me."

Cuddy flared her nostrils to dangerous proportions, but Wilson held up a pacifying hand.

"Cuddy, House was late because he was dealing with severe breakthrough pain."

Cuddy blinked, frozen. "Huh?"

Ignoring House's infuriated glare, Wilson clarified. "It wasn't his fault. He could hardly get up, and I didn't give him a ride for various reasons."

Cuddy deflated like a popped balloon. "Wilson, if you're making this up to cover for him… it's a kind gesture, but House is a grown man who needs to take responsibility-"

House turned her fury on her, exploding like a dam that had just one too many drops of water behind it. "Cuddy, don't you _dare _lecture Wilson. That's _my _job; he didn't do anything."

"House, it's hard for me to believe you'd miss a chance to bitch."

House snarled. "Yeah, I can see why the _queen _of 'bitch' would find it hard to believe that I _don't like admitting when I feel like a pile of dog shit!"_

Cuddy pushed herself back in her chair, shocked to see House so worked up. He got mad, but he never lost control like this. He'd said some harsh things, but he was never this… cutting.

She examined him. He looked exhausted, and a bit under the weather. She spotted a small bandage on the crook of his elbow.

She swallowed. Wilson would never give House powerful drugs, like morphine unless he really felt it was necessary.

She stood, walking towards House. He actually shifted backwards; albeit less than an inch, he was being extra protective of his leg today. Like it'd been hurting more than usual. She'd recognized the motion from the early days of his infarction, where the slightest nudge would send his leg into spasms so painful they had been forced to put him under.

"So what did you do yesterday?"

House blinked. She'd accepted that so… easily. He'd expected much more of an argument.

"Uh… Wilson shoved me full of food all day long. And I helped him move back in."

Cuddy smiled. She was glad the oncologist was moving back in with House; the man needed some companionship. Not to mention a nanny and a personal chef.

"Fine. Next time, _tell _me when you're having issues. Now shoo."

Flabbergasted with the abrupt end of the argument, House fled the office, assuming Cuddy would stop him and tack on some other punishment.

At first he'd been angry with Wilson for exposing him like that, but as the day went on, he calmed down and saw the rationality of it. Things had defiantly improved since the little spat in her office, and none of the things he'd feared would happen happened. Cuddy didn't pity him; hell, she wasn't even nicer to him. But he did recognize a decrease in his assigned clinic hours that he and his leg very much appreciated.

House huffed out a sigh at the situation he was in. His leg felt like someone had dipped it in napalm then lit it on fire, and it was only going to get worse.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened his mouth.

"Wilson!"

Not a minute later, Wilson was in his room. "House? Did you call me?" he questioned groggily, his voice thick with sleep. His hair was sticking up comically, his white shirt half tucked into his boxers.

"Yeah," he choked in return. "I need you to… help me."

Wilson's eyes widened as he recognized the fetal position House was quickly adopting. Without any further questions, he briefly disappeared and came back with the morphine.

When he came in range, House gripped his shirt, vice-like. His arms were shaking, his breathing shallow. Wilson slowly injected the drug. House felt the relief like water on his burning leg, and he collapsed backwards into the bed with a sigh, his hand loosening, but not entirely letting go of Wilson's tee.

Wilson stared at him, his emotion's caught between pain for his friend and happiness that he'd finally let him help.

"Is it the rain?"

House opened one eye, pulling himself from his opiate induced haze. "Uh huh."

He paused, taking several deep breaths before breathing "Thank you."

Wilson's eyes softened. He gently removed House's hand from his shirt, taking it in his own and squeezing. "Thank _you, _House."

As House began to drift off, giving into the morphine, Wilson tired to get up quietly to let him sleep. However, House gripped his hand tighter, jerking his arm down.

"Wilson, it's about time you stopped sleeping on the couch," House murmured groggily.

Wilson stared at him, sure he'd misheard. "Huh?"

"Everyone thinks we're gay for each other anyway, might as well have you sleeping in my bed too."

Wilson's mouth flopped open. He couldn't deny that he had feelings for House. After three failed marriages, it was probably time to admit defeat. However, he'd never expected the emotion to be mutual.

Wilson swallowed, feeling warmth in his chest bloom as he slid into bed with House. The man lazily flopped an arm over him, tucking Wilson's head under his scruffy chin.

Instead of feeling awkward, as he'd expected, Wilson felt strangely… at home. Surrounded and engulfed by House's warmth and scent, he felt the most relaxed he had in years. House's light, growling snore slowly filled his ear, and Wilson smiled into the pillow.

This was where he was meant to be, right here. Next to House.

**Excuse me while I go feel all warm inside...**

**This was sort of the Epilogue. However, the next, and final chapter, will be the Epi-Epilogue.**

**Sorry to suddenly go slash on yah, but it was requested quite a bit in reviews. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Epi-Epilogue**

**Let me point out that you don't really need to read this chapter to finish the fic. Last chapter was a pretty good closing, but I did promise Wilson telling House that Kutner wasn't his fault. I realize the chapter is horrendously short. **

Wilson and House were sitting side by side in what was officially now _their _apartment, watching a hockey match. Even better was the fact that they were in support of opposite teams, Wilson currently cheering on the losing one.

"Come on, come on!" he urged the players pointlessly. "You can do it- no!"

House snickered as the puck was wrestled away from Wilson's team and shot into their goal. "You know, yelling at the TV isn't likely to change the outcome."

"Oh, shut up."

As the game went on, Wilson found himself losing interest in his losing team. Instead, his attention began to focus on House.

The man looked much less beaten down than he had even a month previously. He'd gained weight, started sleeping better. Ever since Wilson had made the transition from friend to lover, things seemed to have gotten easier.

He hadn't expected it to be like that. Sure, he'd been thrilled at the chance to help House. But he never thought he'd see a _softer _side of House, a more vulnerable side. The moment that House had trusted him enough to let him into his bed was the moment that everything changed.

House was still House, and Wilson was still Wilson. The men drove each other insane more often than not, still had debates, still berated each other. But now, there was a layer of trust and love that supported all of that. It was a layer that kept House's harshest comments in check, and Wilson's more mothering tendencies held back a bit.

Wilson smiled a bit to himself. People at work had begun to talk, after a week or so of House being less of an ass and Wilson being less of a mother hen. Many of them knew that they had been rooming together, but the rumor mill was just now catching up to them.

Wilson couldn't have cared less, and since when had House given a damn about what other people thought?

There had been tiny changes in the House house, of course. Wilson made a strong effort to keep the place clean. House had demanded that Wilson held off on his blow drying until at least seven thirty. Wilson cooked some, House cooked some, and they began eating less and less take out. It was the forming of a real, stable relationship, something both House and Wilson needed dearly.

There had been small moments that House had opened up to him, tiny cracks in his ever-present wall. He'd mentioned some small thing here or there, just letting Wilson know that he loved and trusted him enough to share his past with him.

One morning, House had explained his perpetual lateness to Wilson, if indirectly.

"He was all about punctuality," House had said offhand as Wilson hurried to get dressed, having overslept. Unlike his partner, House was nonchalantly sitting half naked on the bed, his eyes watching Wilson scurry back and forth.

Wilson had stopped dead, freezing in his attempt to find a matching pair of socks. He didn't turn around, didn't say a word. He didn't want to scare House off.

"Always, always, I had to be _exactly _on time. Even one minute late and I ended up sleeping in the yard, or not eating. It was a military thing, I think. Everything was on a schedule."

They'd been two hours late that day.

House had mentioned other things, small things. But gradually, he was letting his walls crumble, no longer pouncing on every crack with plaster and new, heavier bricks.

He still remembered the promise he'd made to Kutner. In fact, he thought about it often. There just seemed to be no good time to bring it up, no good way to reassure House that there was nothing he could have done to stop it.

His opportunity came a few minutes later, during a commercial. It was an ad for a suicide prevention hotline. It was almost too perfect.

House's gaze grew hard and fixed, as if it was staring right thorough the TV and into some distant memory. The diagnostician suddenly looked pained and tense, a countenance that Wilson had become far too familiar with.

Wilson muted the TV, intent on bringing it up. He'd gone too long without saying anything, seen House beating himself up over something he couldn't have changed far too often. He hated seeing his lover in pain, whether emotional or physical.

"House?" he asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

House shrugged him off, looking away. "Unmute it, I like this commercial."

Wilson glanced at the TV; it had changed to a funny ad on condoms. It looked like a small child was rolling around on the floor of a super market, throwing a fit. His father was unsuccessfully trying to get him to stop. A close up of the man's exasperated face was followed by the words "Use… Condoms."

He turned back to House. "House, I've been meaning to tell you something."

"Fire away. If it's about that tutu you wear when you think no one's watching, I already know about it."

Wilson didn't rise to the bait. "It's about Kutner."

House's eyes shut off totally, and Wilson reached out to grab his arm desperately. House needed to hear the words he was going to say. "House, there was nothing you could have done."

"Like hell there wasn't. I'm supposed to be a genius."

"He didn't ask for help, he didn't exhibit any signs of depression. Whatever reason he did it had nothing to do with you."

House blinked angrily, staring away.

"Greg, he wouldn't blame you."

House seemed to deflate like a popped beach ball. "How the hell would you know?"

Wilson remained firm. "There was nothing you could have done. If he wanted to die, you couldn't have stopped him."

House wilted, staring at the TV but not really seeing it. His eyes were dark with uncertainty, and just a tad bit of cautious hope.

Wilson scooted up next to him and leaned into his side. "Don't keep blaming yourself. He's in a better place."

House scoffed quietly at Wilson's belief in heaven, but seemed to relax a fraction. He draped an arm around Wilson's shoulder and tugged him in, kissing his forehead lightly.

"Stop being so damn intelligent. That's my job, _you're _supposed to be the dumb one."

When the game ended, there was popcorn scattered all over the floor, beer cans crushed on the table, and two men sprawled on the couch sleeping in each others arms, both considerably better off than they had been just a few months prior.

**Whelp, that's all folks! I must say I had fun writing this, though I had no idea what I was doing most of the time. Thanks to all the reviewers (especially those who pointed out spelling mistakes.)**

**One of these day's I'm going to take a break from the angst and just write a straight fluff fic. **


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